


Go Back To Sleep

by TheKingLoliet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A Lot of Death, Insanity, Mafia AU, because he's a jerkface when he's drunk, blood/violence, oh and cas is a bamf, some really rude slurs by Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 13:24:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1689917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKingLoliet/pseuds/TheKingLoliet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mafia AU. Mob Boss Lucifer takes Dean and Sam under his wing and teaches them the way of the mafia. As Lucifer drags Sam slowly into his world of insanity, Dean meets a CEO by the name of Castiel who promises to save them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Annoying Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song "Counting Bodies Like Sheep" by Perfect Circle. Listen to it in later chapters. It's a freaking awesome song.

“You owe me for this big time, Dean,” growled Sam as he pulled up the car to the stop. The location was fittingly dark, messy and in the middle of nowhere. In front of Sam was a sparse spread of brown grass for a good hundred meters that led up to an old warehouse. The place was obviously abandoned for years, judging by the amount of ivy grown around it and a half-gone gray paint job. It was movie-worthy in its ugliness.

Sam stilled the engine almost immediately after he arrived. Then he flicked the low headlights off and prayed he was fast enough. The action was pivotal, as well as rudimentary. If the target knew he was being followed, the mission would be impossible.

The target's vehicle was parked on the other side of the building, but a peek of it could be seen if one knew where to look. The “vehicle” was a Ferrari F-50, and if Sam hadn't known what was going down, he would have found its being so out of place very, very strange.

Flipping his phone open – yes, he had an old flip phone, Dean wouldn't let him live it down, would he? - Sam checked the time. 3:41 AM. He still had another twenty minutes before anything would happen. Early mornings were great for these types of meetings, as they weren't the expected midnight, and they made people like Sam's jobs hell. Not to mention, absolutely no one would bother being outside at four in the morning. Still, it was a sucky time, and Dean knew Sam hadn't gotten any sleep last night. Jerk, Sam thought with frustration.

He wasn't angry at his brother, per say, but Dean could be selfish about these sorts of things. He'd received a call at eleven that night saying that Dean had found some interesting girl at the bar, and please take my job tonight, sorry, but she's really hot and I would do it for you and you're the best Sammy. If he weren't trying to minimize any sound at all, Sam would have sighed. Tired as he was, Sam wasn't all that concerned about the sleepless thing, really. But this wasn't his type of job. He still was working up the courage to do it all. The drive hadn't helped at all.

Trying to waste some time until four, Sam sent a text.  
 _im here, the target's in position_

Only a few seconds later, he got one back in reply.  
 _Good.  
Don't worry, you'll be fine._

Sam snapped the phone shut. “I hope you're right.”

As he did, he heard several car doors open in front of him. The target was moving. The man walked – no, limped – to the front door, which crossed Sam's view. The target was an old man with a cane, dressed in old fashioned, dapper clothing. Surrounding him were two large, suit-clad bodyguards. Really, this was something straight out of a movie. Then again, movies were based off scenes like this.

With a deep, steadying breath, Sam slid out of his car. He walked as silently as only a Winchester could, making his way to the back door. Said door was eliminated of any of its potential creakiness by a quick squirt of oil to its hinges. Sam was in nearly instantly.

The target was obviously on his phone, considering his angry and loud conversation to no one. While he was the primary objective, Sam searched for the two bodyguards first. Things could get messy if they were left.

Sam was having a lucky night apparently. One was patrolling outside, and the other was behind a set of large crates, out of sight from the target. Sam would take care of that one first, then.

Sam sent a thank you prayer to no god in particular as he jumped on the guard from behind, strangling him into unconsciousness. For all the man's muscles, he hardly put up a fight at all, and his brute force was nothing compared to Sam's skill and experience. The second guard outside was just as simple to knock out – it seemed the target hired rather pathetic bodyguards.

With nothing else to do, Sam faced his real challenge. It wasn't the physical job he was concerned about. Sam had good aim, and the target was utterly oblivious, talking on his phone without a care in the world. 

It was the idea of killing someone in cold blood that scared Sam half to death.

Dean did these sorts of dirty jobs. His brother was unconcerned with messy, emotional details as those simply got in the way. Dean did what he had to do to take care of himself and his brother, and that was that.

Sam wasn't so heartless. In fact, he was known most definitively as having a bleeding heart, and most people respected that. It was hard to be kind when you were in this sort of business. So usually this wasn't a problem. But once in a blue moon Sam would stuck playing assassin, and it hurt every single time.

For example, his target in front of him was an old man, who appeared to have skin cancer and had a missing foot. For all the evil deeds he may have done, Sam couldn't believe he had to kill an unarmed old man. It went against all his morals.

But he had that text that told he would be fine, and he had to believe it with all his heart. If he didn't, things would only get worse. Not to mention that Dean would never let him live it down if he ran away from a job.

So, heart pumping wildly, Sam released the safety from the handgun. It had a silencer, but that didn't mean he wouldn't hear anything. He would hear the last gasp of breath from the man, the body falling to the hard floor, the lack of sound in the air that was louder than any scream.

 _Shoot it, Sam. You have to. Pull the trigger,_ he told himself. 

He had to.  
He would.  
He did.

Every feeling was exactly as he expected. Painful guilt ripping through his chest, Sam cleaned off the door handle to remove any fingerprints, and drove the hour back home, trying not to think about anything.

_its done. im gonna kill dean_

Sam could imagine the reciever of the text chuckling, even though its intentions weren't funny.

_I knew you could do it._  
 _Come back soon. I want to see you._  
-L 


	2. The Night Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is actually something I came up with a few years ago, but I lost the two chapters I wrote already. So, now all rewriting is done, and everything after this is new.

By the time Sam stumbled into HQ, it was after five in the morning. Another night without sleep. This was turning into a bad habit, one Sam wasn't willing to keep. Hoping he wouldn't wake anyone, he tiptoed his way to his bedroom, which was past the living room.

“You're back,” rejoiced a melodic voice from the couch he nearly walked past. 

Sam smiled as broadly as anyone as sleep-deprived as he was could. “You waited for me,” he retorted happily. “You didn't have to, you know.”

His boss and lover, Lucifer, sat lazily a few feet away from Sam, arms open and inviting. “Of course I did. You just came back from a very difficult job. You deserve to have someone waiting for you after all that.”

Lucifer was...an interesting enigma. To say he was the “boss” wouldn't be entirely correct, but everyone knew that the current boss was retiring soon, and that Lucifer would be inheriting the title. As it was, Lucifer was doing most of the work for the job.

As for lover, that was complicated as well. If Sam had ever had a “type”, Lucifer was as far from it as possible. Previously, he had been in a relationship with a girl called Jessica, who was kind and loyal and feminine. Lucifer was none of these things. His kindness was inconsistent. His loyalty was to himself and sex, not Sam. And if anyone dared call him feminine, they would soon find themselves filled with lead.

Their relationship was very much a physical one. Sam craved for something to make him forget the madness of his life, while Lucifer wanted the high that only sex could give him. From the outside, it appeared disgusting and emotionless, but if one looked closely there was some level of emotional love and attachment.

“Okay, so I lied. Micheal’s been more adamant lately, so I was on the phone arguing with him all night. By the time I got done with him, you were on your way back, so I figured I might as well wait,” Lucifer grinned naughtily, eliciting a chuckle from Sam.

“I figured it was something like that.” Sam leaned in to kiss Lucifer, and the other returned the kiss automatically. As much as Sam enjoyed sex, he had an obsession with kissing that Lucifer understood. Sam could spend hours kissing and petting. He craved human touch to an extent that might have been considered weird, had he not been in such a situation as his. Probably some doctors would diagnose it as “a need for connection, due to the death of his parents and girlfriend” or something else stupid. To Sam, it just felt good.

Their kisses changed depending on the other's current feelings. Often, they were a struggle for dominance, a sweet argument. Occasionally, Lucifer would be overworked and let Sam take the reigns, or (more often) be incredibly furious after a bad deal or job, and command Sam's lips for any sense of control.

Every once in a blue moon, Sam would find himself exhausted and put up no fight at all. That was tonight, and Sam savored these kisses in a way he couldn't cherish the others. In these situations, Lucifer had a modicum of self-control and act like an adult. He would kiss Sam gently, carefully. In these times, Sam could dream they were normal.

“Luce,” he moaned softly, taking joy in using the nickname only he could use. Lucifer knew all of Sam's sweet spots, and was working them to the best he could. The side of Sam's neck was especially sensitive, and Lucifer covered it with kisses. 

Somehow, Lucifer found himself on Sam's lap, limbs tangled indistinguishably. Their movements weren't easily traceable, and neither of them could tell you exactly how what ended up where. They were too concerned with the _feeling_. Sam found himself in a dizzy haze of gray and white. All touching and feeling, no thinking, it felt so good. This was what he craved like a drug, the nicotine he needed day and night.

“You fags done yet? So fuckin' gross, hangin' over each other like that,” came a slurring voice from the other room. Dean, drunk out of his mind, stumbled over to the edge of room, hanging on the door frame. A half-empty beer can hung from his free hand.

“You're just jealous, Debra,” replied Lucifer breezily. Insults from drunks never stuck to him, and dissing Dean was one of his favorite pastimes. To seal the point, he swung an arm over Sam's waist and kissed him dramatically. Gags of disgust came from Dean's direction, and Lucifer laughed deeply in response.

But for all of Lucifer's amusement at the scene, Sam couldn't accept insults from Dean. His eyes flicked to the ground and his face darkened. He knew that his brother was drunk, and that he would never say something so rude sober, but it hurt to know those were Dean's true feelings about him. “Dean, this is...”

Lucifer interrupted him steadily, “It's none of your business. Go to bed, Dean, and stop blaming your bad luck with girls on your brother.” The calm, commanding voice was more than a drunk could handle, and Dean wandered his way to his bed, muttering curses under his breath.

Sam sighed. This wasn't the first time this had happened, but it hurt all the same. His brother had claimed to have accepted them, at least to some extent. But even Dean's lies weren't perfect, and Sam knew he both disgusted and hurt Dean by being with Lucifer. Their relationship was by no means healthy, and Dean was scared Sam would end up broken. It was a reasonable fear.

“Sam, don't listen to him, he's just drunk,” Lucifer pleaded, trying to console him.

“I know, I know,” he lied, disentangling himself from the other man. “It's really late, Luce. I need sleep, and so do you. I'll see you in the morning.” He left without turning back, so his face wouldn't belie him.

Lucifer shrugged. Tired sex would be boring anyway. Tomorrow would come sooner than he wanted, and dealing with Michael was a pain in the ass. If Sam wanted to be emo, let him. He had work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Review always appreciated!!


	3. The Clear Morning

“Get yer asses up here, you idjits!” Complained an annoyed voice from the high rafters.

Sam and Dean looked at each other with a certain level of nervousness from across the room at each other in the way they always did when Bobby Singer used that tone of voice with them. Yes, they had more than one problem to discuss with – and probably yell at – each other, but at the moment that was irrelevant.

Like children, the two scrambled to dry their shower-wet hair, or pull on a shirt, respectively, and hustle their way upstairs. They pushed at each other to try to get up there faster. The threat of an angry Bobby Singer was painfully scary.

When they lined up in front of him like soldiers, he looked at them with his loving-but-irritated stare. “So, it seems that you two are the cause of Lucifer bitchin' in my ear this morning. Either of you want to elaborate?” He ran his hand through his hair, obviously both tired and not humoring them. Sam was personally surprised the man didn't have a glass of whiskey on him, as time of day didn't seem to be a matter for him.

“That's...” Sam started, unsure what he would say. Truthfully, he was surprised Luce would say anything on his behalf, positive or negative. He didn't think he meant that much to him.

“I accidentally woke him up this morning when I got back from drinking. He's probably just pissed that he didn't get all his beauty sleep,” Dean cut in, sending Sam a look. A you-owe-me-now look. Which was total bullshit since Dean still owed him from that job.

Bobby sighed. “Shoulda known. That kid may be my successor, but he can sure be a pain in my ass.” For all his annoyance, Bobby spoke affectionately. Like Sam and Dean, Bobby found Lucifer on the street. Lucifer became his sort of protege, learning all his tricks. But Lucifer was more talented than anyone expected, and Bobby was more than willing to let the driven young man take over his little family.

“Well, whatever. I gotta job for you guys. There's been some weird activity on the borders. Some kids with a new drug I never heard of. I don't care if they sell or nothin', but new shit can make things bad quick. I don' trust it.” Bobby looked up at the boys.

“You want us to check it out, right?” Dean replied automatically. Hardly waiting for the affirmative nod, he grabbed his coat and headed out to his Impala.

Sam wasn't so eager, tired from only a few hours of sleep and wary around his brother at the moment. He hesitated, glancing back at his boss and father-figure. Bobby directed him out the door with a stiff nod of his head and an encouraging hand on Sam's shoulder. “Don't worry, kid, whatever problem you've got with him, you'll fix it. You always do.” Trying to smile, Sam headed out the door after his brother, doing his best to believe the words of his mentor. 

As he popped into the shotgun seat, Sam wished he had an aspirin. Sleep-loss and the care-free face of his brother was already giving him a headache. “Dean, we need to talk,” he forced himself to say before he lost the courage.

Dean turned to him as he pulled out the car to the street. “Sure, Sammy. Talk about what?” He appeared completely oblivious to the problem that Sam was implying. Dean could be so dense sometimes.

“What do you think? I dunno, leaving me your shitty jobs at midnight, then coming back drunk? Pissing of Luce like its some kind of joke? I mean, you can be stupid sometimes, but screwing with Lucifer is a whole new level of dumb for you!” Sam unloaded his anger like a gun on his brother, but rather than reacting in pain, his brother laughed satirically.

“You're one to talk, Sammy! I mean, who the hell is “screwing with” Lucifer? And more than literally. You're the stupid one.” Dean's face turned dark suddenly. “I've been doing my best to wash my hands of it, but you, getting attached to him is dangerous, Sam. I mean, he's named after the freaking devil. But now you point your finger at me? Don't be such a hypocrite.”

Sam flinched visibly. It wasn't as if he didn't know all that. But it sucked having it put like that and shoved in his face. He composed himself enough to retaliate, though. “Don't compare my relationship to your actions! I don't go around insulting him for no better reason than because I'm drunk! Even if I were like one of those kids over there on drugs,” Sam waved his hand emphatically to a sidewalk they were passing. “I wouldn't...oh, shit! Dean!”

Dean noticed about the same time he did. They would have to put their emotional problems aside for the moment, as a group of teens were doing some kind of shady deal. But by the look on Dean's face, this wasn't over yet. Not by a long shot.

The two switched to “work mode” perfectly, striding up to the teens with serious expressions and all-business postures. “Hey, you, kid. What do you think you're selling on our territory, huh?” Dean inquired.

“Shit, it's the Requis guys,” one of them cursed to the other and the brothers approached. Sam smirked for a moment at the mispronunciation of their “family” name. Bobby wasn't Italian, so he made up a name for the sake of establishing a mafia group. Problem was, Bobby didn't know a word of Italian either, so he picked a Latin word since apparently he studied that in high school or something. It was almost ironic in meaning, as Sam learned later that it translated to “rest” or “sleep”. Bobby created the group as a safehouse for the people he found, and it was even in their name.

“Yes, it's us _Requis_ guys,” Sam emphasized, teaching them the correct pronunciation while being a tiny bit of a bitch for the fun of it. “So, you gonna tell us what you're selling or not? Gotta clear it with the boss, you know.”

The older of the two shrugged indifferently, contrasting the younger who was cowering out of sight best he could. “It's this new shit called _Shatter_. Gets you higher than Ecstasy or anything else we got.” He tossed Sam a small bag of the drug, a white powder like most other of its kind. “Here, take a bit to your boss.”

The other boy made a sound of surprise, but the first one stopped him with sound logic. “Don't worry, it's not for free, it's an investment. We get it approved by their boss and we can sell it here, no competition.” Turning back to Sam, he continued. “It's legit shit, go ahead, take it. Just make sure we get to sell. Good customers in the area, and we've never tangled with _Requis_ before.” He pronounced it correctly for Sam's sake.

Dean and Sam shared a questioning look. It wasn't usually this easy, but they would take the easy if they could. “Alright. But don't go sellin' it until we get it approved if you want to keep your heads, got it?” Dean touched his hip where his gun was settled to prove his point.

With no arguments, Sam and Dean headed back. Not a word was exchanged between them, the atmosphere thick. Sam stared out the window at the scenery he knew like home, and Dean gripped the wheel like Death was behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna make a chapter every day, but meh, it might be bi-daily.  
> Also, this chapter starts to lead into the plot. I swear there is a plot! Just a lot of lead-into...

**Author's Note:**

> Any comments, good or bad (please be gentle!) would be more than welcome!!


End file.
